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BY JOHN CHEESE
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George Wilson wasn’t the kind of man who could just drive into the infamous ‘Narrows’ of Gotham, at least not for what he was doing tonight. It wasn’t pride that stopped him, more the notoriety that he’d gain for picking up the street walker he had an appointment with in his top of the line BMW. As a project manager for the new development within this part of Gotham, rumoured to be bringing in over two hundred safe and affordable house to the area, the people here knew him, respected him, and that would all be eroded should they find out what he was doing tonight. Instead he had taken his daughter’s car, a blue run-down rust infused thing to the street outside the Gotham Arms Hotel.
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Getting out of the car he checked his reflection, and despite the old plaid shirt and faded jeans, he still looked quite dapper with his silver fox hair, bright eyes and slight mouth that made him attractive when he smiled and terrifying when brought back into a sneer. Hopefully the lady he was here to meet wouldn’t be to disappointed with his clothes, normally he would have preferred to wear a suit, but a certain level of camouflage was required if any law abiding individual was to survive in the Narrows. Passing the other ‘Johns’ and the prostitutes that flaunted their wears he approached his date for the evening, a woman who simply called herself ‘Tiger’. Dressed in a burnt amber mini dress with a yellow and black wrap around her shoulders, Tiger was beautiful, but in a refined elegant way that the other women on the corners of the Narrows couldn’t match.
“Mr House?” Tiger asked as she saw George walk towards her, the mid-western accent of hers sounding exotic compared to the tough and blunt Gothamite accents of those around them. “I thought you might have bailed.” She added as she ran her hand through her long blonde hair. George smiled, Tiger had remembered to call him by the alias he had chosen the first time they had met, and even after sharing with her his real name, she’d kept it to herself. This combination of beauty, elegance and brains had made her irresistible to George, and he found himself drawn back to her like a bee to an overflowing sensual honeypot.
“We going to the usual place?” George asked, as Tiger led the way into the Gotham Arms.
“Sure.” Tiger replied as the pair of them hide inside the once grand structure which had clearly seen better days, but was now, like the rest of the Narrows dilapidated and seemingly ready to fall apart at the merest touch. In his mind, George was in no doubt that he was a hero to these people and that he was the true saviour of this city and not that freak dressed in his S&M suit and his underage protégées who went around beating people in the streets. Heading into the suites, George was surprised to find Tiger had arranged for a bottle of red wine to be delivered, as well as two glasses.
“Well I wasn’t expecting this.” George stated as the pair of them sat down on the heart shaped double bed. “What’s the occasion?”
“I can’t treat my best client?” Tiger asked innocently as she poured the wine out into the glasses. “To you and the renovation of the Narrows.” She added, as George took one of the glasses and took a long sip. Smiling he relaxed back on the bed as Tiger got to her feet and removed her wrap, he was already feeling drowsy before the drink, but now it was a real struggle to keep his eyes open, even as Tiger removed her dress, to reveal ivory skin marred only by a red and black butterfly tattoo on the small of her back. His lids drooping, he suddenly realised what was happening as Tiger unclipped her bra and threw it onto the bed.
“You bitch…you…you drug…” Before he could finish George closed his eyes as the drugs finally took full effect. If he had been awake he would have seen Tiger slip her clothes on and flick the lights on and off twice, the room plunging into darkness.
# # # # #
When George awoke darkness surrounded him, save for the flickering of what appeared to be a bug zapper in the corner of the chamber he was in. He was certain that he was no longer in the Gotham Arms, the smell was worse and the air was dead quiet, a rarity in a metropolitan area and something he had never experience before in his time in Gotham. Except it wasn’t totally quiet, there was a fluttering sound coming from somewhere above and to the left of him. In the near darkness, George got to his feet off of the cold concrete floor and brushed himself down, before making his way to the light in the hopes of finding a way out.
“When I find that bitch I’m going to wring her neck!” George grumbled as he headed towards the light, the fluttering sound getting louder. Reaching out for the light he suddenly saw something dart away into the darkness, the fluttering fading and truly plunging the room into silence. It only took George a few seconds to realise that something large was in here with him, and that the flickering light had been obscured by whatever had shifted away from him. Blinking, he moved the light around to the right, and illuminated a door with stairs leading up and out of the room, and while he had no idea where it led, George was ready to leave as panic began to wrap around him. Walking briskly over to the door, he stopped as a long rattling breath sounded behind him, causing him to freeze and turn slowly to find the source of the sound.
“Hello?” George called timidly as he looked for any sign of life in the room, the rattling breath sending shivers down his back. After waiting for what an age, and with the breathing not getting closer George headed up the stairs away from the mysterious watcher and up into a small room filled with washing machines and driers. More importantly there was a naked bulb in the room that glowed faintly, moths fluttering round it in ever decreasing suicidal circles. Heading away from the stairs, George walked into the adjoining hall, the glow of the light growing dimmer and dimmer behind him until he reached what seemed to be the end. Reaching out to confirm that he could go no further, his finger stroked fabric.
“What is this, a curtain?” George asked as he pulled the fabric aside, a shower of dust sent flying by his violent tug. On the other side of the curtain was a large room light by a few candles, what light they produced revealing huge rents in the walls of the building and a boarded up window. There was something else as well, there in the corners of the room it almost looked as if a man was standing there. From somewhere above him something moved, and George jerked his head upwards to track it before looking back down to see a pair of glowing red eyes staring back at him, that same rattling breath filling the room. “Fu…Fuck!!” George spat as he staggered over backwards, knocking one of the candles over as he fell, the wick extinguishing as it hit the floor. Holding his hands above his head in defence George waited for a blow that never came. More than that, besides his heart heading into overdrive, he couldn’t hear anything, especially not that bone numbing Darth Vader like rasp.
“Shit!” George spat as he got to his feet and headed for the window. “I’m going to kill that whore!” He spat as he tugged at one of the boards in a vain attempt to shift it. Giving up, he looked over at one of the rents in the wall and did a quick calculation of the size of the hole, the illumination of the nearest candle making it appear as if there was a passage that led away from the room. It was entirely possible that there was a secret passage there, the Narrows, indeed all of Gotham had been a hot bed for moonshine smuggling during Prohibition. It was a potential escape route, and George was ready to leave this rundown building as fast as he could. Sliding into the passage, George edged along cautiously until he put his foot down only to find nothing beneath it as he toppled forward and down to the floor below.
Groaning, George got to his feet, the familiar feel of the concrete of the room he’d woken up in under his fingers. Running his hands over the cuts on his arms, George looked up at the dull glow of the space above him, before watching in horror as a plate was slid over the hole, locking him in the near darkness of the room he’d fallen into. His eyes already adjusted to the gloom, George walked over to one of the walls, and ran his hands over the glass tanks lined along a table, each one filled with moths fluttering against the glass in a futile attempt to escape confinement…just like him. This was more than some joke or petty extortion scheme arranged by a common whore, George knew that now, and considering where he was, that terrified him. His hands running along the wall, George came to a mirror resting along one of the walls, a dull reflection looking back at him.
“Oh shit!” George swore as he looked at the reflection, before realising what he was missing. The pane of glass was a mirror all right, but a one way mirror to the room he had woken up in, the same light flickering before eventually turning off. “Oh fuck!” He swore as he backed up, horror spread across his face. Turning to look around the room for anyway out, when he turned back he saw those same red eyes from above staring at him through the glass of the one way mirror, the same dread breathing filling the room. “Leave me alone freak!” George spat as he regained a little of his nerve. Whoever had took him was on the other side of the mirror, that much was clear, or at least that’s what he thought until an arm wrapped round his throat. Wheezing and spluttering, George then realised his mistake as he was dragged from the room and down a set of stairs, it wasn’t that the light hadn’t been extinguished, it had been the mirror that had been turned off.
“Who are you?” He spluttered, as his abductor dragged him into a room and threw him to the floor next to three other people, their hands and feet bound. “What do you want with us?”
“You came here to the Narrows claiming to be better than the people here.” The wheezing figure hissed as George caught a glimpse of his abductor in the flickering light of the spotlight in the corner of the room. He was dressed in a grey flak jacket and trousers with a grey and black urban camouflage print, his face save for a mop of black hair covered in a gas mask, the lenses glowing red. “But you are no better than the people here. You are doctors coming to deal drugs, police officers looking to kill, councillors and businessmen coming to take advantage of those with nothing, all the while claiming in the light of day that the Narrows should be saved.”
“Please we’ll keep out of the Narrows, you have our word.” A woman, dressed in nurse’s scrubs, chirped. “We understand now.” Her only answer was a wheezing laugh, one that was echoed by more human laughs as a door opened and a number of beautiful women walked in, all dressed in the same costume as the gas-masked fiend, save for the red and black moth patch sewed onto their sleeves.
“Tiger, you bitch!” One of the men next to George spat.
“My Tiger Moths brought you here.” The abductor wheezed as he removed a folding butterfly knife from his belt. “And you misunderstand the purpose of why I brought you here. I don’t want you to stay out of the Narrows, I want you to move in, to make the people here so down-trodden, so desperate and destitute that their hatred grows, until it flares out into Gotham and swamps the city.”
“You…you want us to help you?” A man dressed in a beat-cop uniform gasped. “We have standards!”
“You call two men shot for no reason save for your blood-loss standards?” The abductor asked as the Tiger Moths advanced on the bound Gothamites, dragging them into the room they had emerged from, and strapping them to the four operating tables installed there. Following them through, the figure took the knife and slit the officer’s throat open, blood spilling out onto the table. “Does anyone else here have standards?” He asked, as the Tiger Moths removed a tattooing needle, and swabbed the cheeks of their victims. “I didn’t think so.”
“What is the purpose of this?” George asked timidly, as he watched two Tiger Moths inject ink into the doctor’s cheek, her scream filling the room.
“The purpose?” His abductor wheezed as George watched the needle come closer and closer, before lifting his head to reveal a red and black moth tattoo on the nape of his neck, one that was identical to the one on Tiger’s back. “To remind you that you now belong to Killer Moth.”
END?
He glanced down at the domed head of Doctor Victor Fries. He shrugged and started to speak. His voice cracked, his vocal cords dry and stiff from disuse. He swallowed a couple times, then spoke again.
“Nothing in this world is wise,” he said. “However, it is necessary. The cave’s hydroponics should provide enough food to sustain me the rest of my life. Without UV-bulbs though, it’s of no use.”
“And your store of them has run out already?”
“They were destroyed in the cave-in,” he said. He left ‘that you caused’ unsaid. “Are you done complaining? Are you ready to keep a lookout for us?”
“I’m a head in a jar,” Mr. Freeze said. “Do I have any choice?”
Bruce grinned, positioned Freeze so he had the best view possible, and removed several feet of line from his belt. He stood on the roof of a WayneTech manufacturing plant on the edge of Gotham. There was nothing and no one for miles. He placed an earpiece tightly in his left ear, then walked to the edge of the nearest skylight. He pulled his grapple gun from his belt, fired it into the ground, then fixed the line to it. He turned and backed to the edge of the skylight. He took a deep breath and let himself drop.
He fell about ten meters before slowing to a stop. He was still suspended above the floor another ten meters. He stayed still, held his breath and listened. About ten seconds later, he took a deep, relieved breath. Nothing.
He slowly lowered himself the remaining distance. He stepped onto the factory floor and released the line. The line itself gave a faint phosphorus glow in the dim light. He pulled the rifle from his shoulder, and blinked twice. His contact lenses adjusted to the low light, allowing him to see much more clearly.
He moved quickly. All he needed to do was find and tag the crates of bulbs. After that, the work would be entirely up to the Bat-drones. He rushed softly through the aisles of abandoned equipment. It was eerie, but he had to do his best to not be shaken by it. As far as he knew, he was the last survivor on the planet. Superman had evacuated with the League and as much of the population as he could take to an abandoned hospitable planet near Rann six months ago. Last he’d heard from Clark, there had been an outbreak there he was trying to contain.
That was three months ago.
“Any luck?” Freeze asked. He jumped at the former villain’s voice. He was nearing the shipping/receiving warehouse, and was concentrating. He thought he’d heard something a split second before.
“Not there yet. I’ll radio when I’m on my way back out.”
And then he was there.
Shipping/receiving was divided from the rest of the plant by a series of large roll-down doors. Every third door had a smaller fire door next to it with a crash bar. He winced. The crash bar would make noise, no matter how carefully he opened it. The reward outweighed the risk though. He considered his options for a moment before dashing to the door. He kicked it, hard, making a loud crash, before bounding through. He rolled as he went through, covering several meters, before coming up with the pulse rifle ready. His entrance was still echoing in the cavernous warehouse.
Then he heard the sound that chilled his blood.
A single echoing laugh.
He moved quickly forward towards the laugh. If he took care of it quickly, he’d be safe. It wouldn’t draw others.
After a few seconds, he saw the laugher.
It had been a woman. She was pinned between a forklift and the wall, one of the forks embeded in her belly. She was petite, and clearly had been young. She was dressed in a black polo and khaki’s, probably one of the front office staff. Her skin hadn’t yet begun to decay, but it had sunken and greyed. Viscera had pooled and crusted on the fork around where it had pierced her belly.
None of that was the living corpse’s most distinguishing feature though.
Over a year ago, the Joker had threatened Gotham with his most potent Joker toxin attack yet. It would bring the city to its knees and break Bruce himself. The Joker hadn’t tested it on humans yet though. When he unleashed it, instead of incapacitating its victims with laughter, it killed them. However, the corpses wouldn’t fall. They kept walking. Kept running.
And laughing. They never stopped laughing.
The infection was contagious as well. It had spread quickly. Too quickly. Most of Earth was a loss within three months.
Her lips were still vivid red, her mouth spread in a morbid rictus grin. She giggled as she turned to face him. Her head cocked to one side, and the giggle turned deeper, more robust. Bruce closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He lowered the rifle, and pulled a batarang from his belt. He looked up into her eyes. She was reaching for him now, trying to turn her body towards him.
“Ahahahaha,” she laughed slowly. With a flick of his wrist, the batarang embedded itself in her eye. After a moment, a vein of magnesium in the weapon ignited down its length, quickly destroying her brain. She slumped over, finally at peace. He sighed and cast his eyes downward. It wasn’t enough. It never would be again.
He rubbed his eyes, turned and raised his rifle again. He listened closely. No laughter. No movement. He was clear, for the time being. He dashed back into action. If the manifest was right, he was within a hundred yards of a surplus. He ran back and forth between crates, loaded pallets, shipping containers and abandoned equipment. Each time he paused just long enough to ensure he didn’t hear laughter. Then he proceeded.
He paused behind one particularly tall pallet for a moment longer. He needed to catch his breath. He glanced around the corner of the pallet.
There was his goal. He could see the markings to indicate the type of bulb, the wattage, the wavelength, everything.
However, in between was a scene of carnage. A massive pallet of engine parts was scattered around it, with dried blood and gore spread throughout it. It wouldn’t be easy. He looked above him. The roof support were within throwing distance. He wouldn’t have to worry.
Then he heard it.
Laughter.
They were coming.
“Batman,” Victor’s voice said over the comm. “There’s a horde incoming. You have to hurry.”
“Damn. Acknowledged.”
Bruce closed his eyes and sighed. He had to time it right and get out. He pulled the line from his belt, hooked a ‘rang to it, wrapped the free end around his non-dominant hand several times and took a deep breath. He looked up at the exposed support, swung the ‘rang over his head several times, and threw.
The Batarang flew fast and hit the target perfectly. It wrapped around the support several times and stopped. He gave the line a tug and nodded. Perfect.
He closed his eyes and counted to ten. It had been a while since he’d actually swung from lines. Most of his travel through Gotham recently had been via Batmobile. This was actually a bit nerve wracking. He his ten, snapped his eyes open, and broke into a run. After about ten steps, he reached the edge of the debris field, and he yanked, pulling himself into the air. He only swung for a few seconds, and his trajectory carried him over the crate. In a smooth motion, he grabbed the beacon from his belt and dropped it.
He felt a moment of doubt as it fell. What if it bounced off? What if he missed entirely? What if it was the wrong damn pallet?
It landed. It stayed. And the light atop it started blinking.
He did it.
He released the line once he was clear, and dropped. He hit the group in a somersault, coming up onto his feet.
The laughter was growing louder.
There was no time for stealth. He had to get out, and now.
He raised his rifle and began sprinting. He reached the doors. He grabbed one and yanked it open. The laughter was louder here. They were coming. They had likely found an open loading dock, left by workers trying to get out in a hurry.
He looked around himself. The warehouse was full of racks upon racks. He got to the top, he’d be okay. He just had to pray they they were secure enough for his weight. He ran to the nearest one and began climbing. The laughter was growing louder and louder. He was ten feet off the ground when he saw them.
“Dammit,” he growled. They were swarming, angry and hungry. They could probably smell him. “Victor, I’m on my way. This may be tight.”
He reached the top and scanned the room. Within a couple seconds he found his line. He began bounding and leaping towards it.
He could hear the swarm behind him. The laughter had reached a fever pitch and began to be mixed with feral snarls. Then he heard something that utterly terrified him.
Two of the racks crashed together.
He paused just long enough to confirm. The swarm had shoved one of the massive shelving racks over. And it had hit and toppled another. Which was groaning as it leaned to hit another.
His safe route was now a rapidly collapsing death trap.
He picked up the pace, running and jumping again. The crashes were growing quicker, more intense, closer. He had seconds, if that.
He was only ten yards away when he glanced over his shoulder. The nearest rack was falling.
He leapt.
His fingers slipped on the line for a second, but then he gripped tighter and began climbing. He reached the edge of the skylight, grabbed it and heaved himself into the fresh air.
He laid on the rooftop on his belly, gasping, for what seemed like an eternity before he pushed himself up, and rolled onto his back. He took two more deep breaths, before sitting up. He could hear the laughter directly below him. He didn’t dare look. He didn’t want to know how close they’d come. He stood.
He walked past Victor and continued to the edge of the roof. He looked down at where he left the Batmobile. It was swarmed. They’d need to wait out the dead before they could leave. Using the automatic defenses would be too risky near a building that could prove useful in the future.
“Well,” he said turning back to Victor’s jarred head, “looks like we’re making camp.”
“How long?”
“Hopefully only until morning,” he said. “We’ll see.”
# # # # #
He had fallen asleep a couple hours before Victor began growling his name. He sat up in a swift motion, casting aside his trenchcoat that had become a makeshift blanket.
“What?” he growled.
“Look. To the northwest.”
Bruce glanced around to get his bearings, then looked to the northwest. He frowned, and grabbed at his utility belt. He found the binoculars quickly, and raised them to his face.
“Is it what I think it is?” Victor asked.
Batman simply stared before lowering the binoculars.
“It's a campfire. With at least one person sitting at it.”
“Well, that’s interesting now, is it not?”
END
BY TRAVIS HILTZ
1943: somewhere in rural France
The tank clunked along the dirt road, as weary as its occupants as it pulled into the small village. It showed the scars of combat as well as a healthy coating of road dust. A small, ragged confederate flag hung limply from the tank’s antenna.
It chugged to a stop and the top hatch opened and Jeb Stuart the tank’s commander poked his head out.
“No one shooting at us,” He muttered, cautiously climbing out. “That’s a good sign. Still seems too quiet…”
“What’s up?” A voice from within the tank called.
“Don’t know, Slim,” Jeb called back down. “Sit tight and let me look…”
He climbed out of the tank and scrambled down to the ground.
He stood at the side of the tank, peering at the sleepy village. A small farming community, with a single road of packed earth, a church and a tavern. A few flickering lights which he doubted came from electricity.
It all looked quaint, harmless and too quiet to be fully trusted.
“You’re cautious,” A voice at his side said, with gruff approval. “When men are tired, your eyes can be deceived. A good solider knows to listen first to his instincts.”
Next to the tank commander there stood the ghostly form of a confederate general. Pristine uniform, full beard and a cavalry saber at his side.
Jeb Stuart showed no surprise at this new arrival. He was used to the comings and goings of the ghost of his ancestral namesake. Why General Stuart had returned and chosen to watch over his relative was a mystery, but Jeb had learned to accept the spirit’s presence and to listen to his advice and warnings.
Jeb nodded, too tired to question the General’s cryptic advice. He climbed back up to the turret and began giving orders to his men.
“Excuse me…excuse me, sir.” A voice said, causing the ghostly soldier to turn in surprise.
At his side stood a ghostly child, dressed in rough, home-sewn garments. She wore a kerchief over her limp auburn hair. She looked up at the General plaintively.
“Good evening, Miss,” General Stuart said, with a tip of his hat.
“You must help sir,” She said, “We can’t do it…we need help. Please sir…”
She reached up her tiny hand and took hold of his and the old soldier let himself be led away from the tank and into the village.
They approached a small house and passed through the wall. Inside a family of four moved amongst the rustic surroundings. They seemed to just be going about their regular, mundane activities, but to the General there was a hesitancy about their actions, a concern that something was coming and whatever household chores they were doing could at any moment be interrupted. The General had the impression that whatever they thought was coming was not a happy occurrence. They passed through the wall, into the narrow alley between.
The ghostly duo turned and passed through the next house, past an elderly woman who was anxiously praying and a cat that stares intently from its hiding place under the heavy wooden bed.
They exited out through the back wall and the young girl lead the general through a well tended garden, a waist high stone wall and across a field of dry, listless grass to a barn that seemed in the process of slowly collapsing in upon itself from neglect.
General Stuart paused for a moment. The building gave off a…he wasn’t quite sure what, an energy. Unseen, but strongly felt, like how you feel the heat from a stove before you can see if it was on or not.
The peasant girl halted when she noticed he had fallen behind and went back for him.
“It’s okay.” She said, in a reassuring tone.
A brief smile escaped the confines of his beard.
“I am sure you will protect me,” He said, taking her hand again.
They stepped through the old barn doors and he could instantly feel the presence of others, scurrying about.
“Come out,” The girl sternly commanded. “He’s here to help us!”
The General could soon spot whom she was talking to. There were dozens of other ghostly children inhabiting the old barn, dressed in a multitude of styles from across history. Some of the children seemed almost solid, while others were so faint as to be wisps of vapor.
They huddled in corners and peaked out from behind moldering bales of hay and ancient, neglected farming equipment.
The General could feel the fear coming off of them like a solid thing, a wave washing over him.
“What could so frighten ghosts?” He muttered.
“A good question indeed sir,” A voice behind him added.
General Stuart spun, his sword in his hand in a blur of motion.
Facing him was another ghost. A man clad in the fashion of a gentleman of wealth from the 1700s. Despite his ghostly form the General could still make out the colors of his attire. This was no fading spirit, but rather one with some anchor to this earthly realm.
He too had a sword in hand, a dueling sword, and pointed at the old soldier.
They two ghosts stood, sword tips touching, ready to lunge the second they spotted an opening.
“Hey, D’artanian! Custer! What in the Sam hill is going on here?!” A new voice exclaimed.
A third ghost floated down from the rafters, his appearance and dress more modern then the two duelists. He wore a red t-shirt, stretched across his muscular chest and shoulders. He also wore white jodhpurs and boots.
He floated in-between the two ghosts, arms stretched to push them apart.
“Lets calm down. What do you two think you are going to do? Stab each other to death?” He grumbled.
General Stuart noticed that both the new arrivals had a ghostly child accompanying them.
“It seems we were all three ‘invited’ to this strange gathering,” He said, re-sheathing his saber. “I apologize for my poor manners.”
“Think nothing of it, sir,” The gentleman replied, making a leg. “Under the circumstances cautious vigilance is the best chosen course.”
“You two done?” The third ghost asked.
“I would think introductions are in order,” The gentleman said, lowering his own sword. “Keith Everet, Earl of Strethmere, at your service.”
“General James Ewill Brown Stuart,” The General replied, with a tip of his hat.
“Fine, if it’ll make you guys happy, I’m Michael Gallant. I’m…I was in the army air force, now I kind of operate with my brother as Captain Triumph.”
“I am familiar with you,” Everet, said with a nod. “Having myself crossed paths with some of the mystery men that operate in Europe. The alias I work under is the Ghost, depending upon my mood, some would call me ‘Gay’ others ‘Grim’.”
“It would seem we all are involved in the effort against the Nazis,” General Stuart said, thoughtfully. “And that it was our ghostly natures that drew us here.”
“Yes, sir,” His young guide said, feeling brave enough to join the conversation. “We were all drawn here. Every year, on this same night it comes to the village…we are drawn here, we cannot stop it…please help us…!”
A chorus of whispers from all corners of the ancient barn joined her plea.
“Can’t say I like the sound of that,” Michael Gallant muttered. “I want to help, but my brother is out there and without my help, he is likely to get himself hurt…”
“What would a ghost find frightening?” The Grim Ghost pondered, fingering the hilt of his sword absently. “And why are we the only adults at this gathering?”
“It took them,” The young girl said, quietly. “It took them all.”
“What did?” The General asked, kneeling down to be face to face with the child. He took her tiny hand in his. “What happened here, child?”
”Something keeps it here,” She said, looking back at the other spirit children for support. “We…we can’t fight it and it will soon get us as well…then it may leave…!”
“It sounds like a predator. Something that hunts ghosts,” Gallant said.
“And I shudder to think what would happen if it began to roam and discovered battlefields containing hundreds of newly created ghosts.” The General said. “Gentlemen, it would appear our course of action is clear.”
“Great, except we don’t know what this thing is or even where it is.” Gallant said.
“It hides,” One of the children said, peeking out around a hay bale. “It hides among the families. “
“It waits to strike,” Another whimpered.
“Okay, so we go ‘trick or treating’,” Gallant nodded.
“We what?” General Stuart asked.
“You never went trick or treating as a kid?” Gallant asked. “Are you that old?”
“I assure you, sir…!”
“Don’t get in a huff. I mean we go door to door, around the village until we scare up this…bad thing…does it have a name…?”
“We do not get near enough to ask,” The general’s guide replied.
“Sensible,” Everet shrugged. “So, shall we gentlemen?”
The General made a ‘after you’ gesture.
Michael Gallant rolled his eyes and floated through the wall.
“Stay here, children,” The Grim Ghost advised them with a jaunty salute. “We will return.”
# # # # #
The three Ghosts drifted along the main dirt road of the village, studying the assortment of small, rustic houses that lined it.
“Where to start?” Everet asked, stroking his chin in thought.
“We don’t have all night!” Gallant snapped. “Let’s just pick a side and get going.”
He headed towards the nearest house and the other two spirits followed. They passed through the wall and floated above the family, as they sat around their fireplace.
“What are we looking for?” Everet asked. “We are assuming it is a spirit or creature, but it could be hiding anywhere or in anything…”
“Or anyone.” General Stuart added, studying the rooms of the small home. “The villagers seem unaware of our being here, but everyone we’ve encountered has seemed…skittish. See how even as they move about the house, the parents are keeping their children in sight…. perhaps, it is not so much ghosts that it hunts, but rather fear.”
Michael Gallant floated next to him; arms crossed and thoughtful frown on his face.
“I’ve got no patience for anybody that wants to hurt a kid,” He muttered.
The Grim Ghost drifted back into the main room.
“I can find nothing that hints of our quarry.” He said. “Shall we move on?”
The next house much the same: plain, rustic furnishings, parents and children all going about their nightly pursuits, while at the same time keeping nervous watch over each other.
It was the same for the next three houses. Being courteous, they entered by passing through the front door, scouted about the house and family and were on their way.
They had gone up one side of the street and started down the other.
“This is nuts,” Gallant grumbled. “I can feel it…there’s something here, but where the heck is it?”
“Patience,” The General advised, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he peered at the remaining houses and barns.
The trio drifted through the door. This house was in a poorer state then it’s neighbors. That might be due to the seven children that roamed and played in every room.
“See?” Gallant muttered. “Just more kids. Either we are doing this wrong or those kids in the barn are sending us on a wild goose chase.”
“I can’t say weither the geese are tame or wild…”Everet began, glancing about idly.
“Why is that child looking at us?” General Stuart asked.
“What? It can’t…holy smokes…she is!” Gallant exclaimed.
The little girl had been sitting by herself, playing with some rough wooden blocks, but her gaze was focused on the three ghosts.
After several minutes, her lips moved. Forming the words ‘go away’.
“It’s her!” Everet announced. “She’s the evil.”
“No, whatever it is, has taken hold of that child.” General Stuart said.
“Then we need to show it who’s boss,” Gallant said, cracking his knuckles. “Drive it out.”
The child glared at them but showed no other outward sign of reaction.
“I’ve learned a few things about taking possession of mortal hosts,” Everet said. “I may have an idea.”
Moving like a diver, the Grim Ghost leapt upwards and then arc’d down at the possessed child. His ghostly form disappeared as he flowed inside her.
“I get it,” Michael Gallant nodded, following quickly after. “Just like with my brother Lance.”
He too vanished within the young girl, like a swimmer diving below the surface of the water.
General Stuart, the one spirit that had never used human hosts, felt at a loss at what to do.
The child shivered, then made a face like it had tasted something sour and held her stomach. She made a retching sound and shuddered.
When she did Gallant and Everet came tumbling out.
The Grim Ghost was flung across the room and passed through the wall. The American mystery man stopped at the General’s feet.
“We might have a problem,” He muttered, struggling to sit up.
The child retched again, loud enough this time to attract the attention of her parents and siblings.
“I… told…you…!” She gasped. “Go…a…way…!”
Vile sludge poured from her mouth, nostrils and eyes and quickly formed into a grotesque creature.
It was squat and broad shouldered. Its arms seemed too long for its body, and due to its incredibly stumpy, bowed legs, its gnarled hands dragged on the ground.
It had no neck, rather its lumpy head just sat upon its shoulders.
It glared at the General with small, piggy eyes, while grinding teeth that resembled a collection of dingy dominos.
It swung its long, gangly arms at Stuart. He dodged, and then grabbed Gallant by the back of his t-shirt. Hauling his new ally, they fled through the back wall of the house.
Everet flew over to join them.
“It’s coming!” Stuart announced, letting go of Gallant and drawing his sword. The other ghost did likewise, as the creature lumbered through the wall, arms flailing, and a growl like a rusty saw going through a log escaped its rubbery lips.
Flying through the air it resembled a disfigured ape, using its arms as well as feet to propel it along.
General Stuart slashed down savagely with his cavalry saber. It passed through the creature’s flesh, left no mark, but it flinched backwards.
The General gave a grim smile of realization as he stabbed forward, driving the thing back several feet.
“Your sword, sir!” He called.
The Grim Ghost flew upwards, sword drawn and he kept the creature caged in with a series of lightening fast feints and strikes.
“Even when they are ghostly in form,” He said. “Most supernatural creatures cannot abide cold steel!”
The two swordsmen pinned the creature in, cutting off any avenue of escape, keeping it trapped in the farmyard.
“We have it contained,” The Grim Ghost said, while fighting. “But, what is our next step?”
“The young lady made it sound that this was the one night the creature stalked the village,” The General grunted, struggling to dodge the creatures’ massive arms. “But I am doubtful we can keep it trapped until dawn…?”
“So, what do we do?” Gallant asked, as he snuck up behind the misshapen creature and slammed his clasped fists down on the top of its head.
“I could help,” A new voice said.
All three ghosts glanced over at the new arrival. She was a petite young woman with chalk white skin and raven black hair. She was dressed in a simple, yet stylish black skirt and blazer ensemble and a pillbox hat. In her gloved hands, she held a small, empty birdcage.
They struggled to keep the creature contained while trying to judge who this woman was and if was truly on their side.
She pulled off one glove, put her fingers to her mouth and whistled, three sharp notes.
The creature stopped in mid-attack, spotted the pale woman and immediately ceased all hostilities, taking on the posture of a child caught in some naughty behavior.
She then reached down, and with a single finger, pushed open the door of the birdcage.
“Enough is enough, Chazzmort,” She said, sternly. “Play time is over.”
The creature growled, deep in whatever passed for its throat and timidly backed away. It then found itself bumping into the point of the Grim Ghost’s sword.
The General then gave him a poke with his own sword to prompt the creature along.
As it shuffled towards the pale woman, it grew smaller, until by the time it reached her, the monster fit easily into the birdcage.
“There,” She nodded, clicking the door closed. “More trouble then you are worth.”
She then looked up, and realized the three ghosts were hovering around staring at her.
“Well, thank you for your help,” She said, smiling. “You wouldn’t believe how hard tracking Chazzmort down was. If you three hadn’t driven him out into the open, I might have missed him…really busy, trying to look after my brother’s things, and do my own job, but that’s how family is.”
“I’m sorry,” The General muttered, unsure. “But, have we met before, Miss? You seem familiar…?”
“I meet everyone,” She replied, gently. “But I do tend to remember the ones that got away. Nice to see you fellows again.”
Gallant hung back, anxiously. Everet lowered his sword, but did not sheath it, while he searched his memory for when he might have seen the young lady before.
The General moved a few steps closer, sheathing his sword and stroked his beard in thought.
“I cannot say I understand all that has occurred,” He said, politely. “But, I thank you for your help.’”
She smiled back up at him.
I’d like to stay and chat, but between my own ‘to do’ list and cleaning up after my brother has left me hardly time to breathe,” She said, with a tip of her hat. “Thanks again. Be seeing you.”
With that, she faded away.
“What just happened…?” Breathed Everet.
“Who was she…?” Gallant said, rubbing at his arm. “I’ve seen her before…I don’t…uh, strange, like something I should…”
“I feel the same,” General Stuart nodded. “But, I think we should be content that we have kept this village safe. Beyond that…”
He shrugged.
“Well, then,” The Grim Ghost added, sheathing his sword. “I should be on my way. There is a young lady that will be concerned.”
“And by now my brother has likely gotten himself into trouble,” Michael Gallant said.
“Gentlemen,” General Stuart said, extending his hand. “It has been a honor.”
“It has been something,” Gallant said, shaking his hand. “If either of you are in the states, drinks are on me.”
He then flew off.
The Grim Ghost gave a dramatic bow and he too flew off.
The General gave a brief smile and a salute and then drifted back towards the village, concerned how his namesake ancestor and tank crew had dealt with their own mission. A telltale column of smoke in the distance, lead him to believe their night had been eventful as well.
1943: somewhere in rural France
The tank clunked along the dirt road, as weary as its occupants as it pulled into the small village. It showed the scars of combat as well as a healthy coating of road dust. A small, ragged confederate flag hung limply from the tank’s antenna.
It chugged to a stop and the top hatch opened and Jeb Stuart the tank’s commander poked his head out.
“No one shooting at us,” He muttered, cautiously climbing out. “That’s a good sign. Still seems too quiet…”
“What’s up?” A voice from within the tank called.
“Don’t know, Slim,” Jeb called back down. “Sit tight and let me look…”
He climbed out of the tank and scrambled down to the ground.
He stood at the side of the tank, peering at the sleepy village. A small farming community, with a single road of packed earth, a church and a tavern. A few flickering lights which he doubted came from electricity.
It all looked quaint, harmless and too quiet to be fully trusted.
“You’re cautious,” A voice at his side said, with gruff approval. “When men are tired, your eyes can be deceived. A good solider knows to listen first to his instincts.”
Next to the tank commander there stood the ghostly form of a confederate general. Pristine uniform, full beard and a cavalry saber at his side.
Jeb Stuart showed no surprise at this new arrival. He was used to the comings and goings of the ghost of his ancestral namesake. Why General Stuart had returned and chosen to watch over his relative was a mystery, but Jeb had learned to accept the spirit’s presence and to listen to his advice and warnings.
Jeb nodded, too tired to question the General’s cryptic advice. He climbed back up to the turret and began giving orders to his men.
“Excuse me…excuse me, sir.” A voice said, causing the ghostly soldier to turn in surprise.
At his side stood a ghostly child, dressed in rough, home-sewn garments. She wore a kerchief over her limp auburn hair. She looked up at the General plaintively.
“Good evening, Miss,” General Stuart said, with a tip of his hat.
“You must help sir,” She said, “We can’t do it…we need help. Please sir…”
She reached up her tiny hand and took hold of his and the old soldier let himself be led away from the tank and into the village.
They approached a small house and passed through the wall. Inside a family of four moved amongst the rustic surroundings. They seemed to just be going about their regular, mundane activities, but to the General there was a hesitancy about their actions, a concern that something was coming and whatever household chores they were doing could at any moment be interrupted. The General had the impression that whatever they thought was coming was not a happy occurrence. They passed through the wall, into the narrow alley between.
The ghostly duo turned and passed through the next house, past an elderly woman who was anxiously praying and a cat that stares intently from its hiding place under the heavy wooden bed.
They exited out through the back wall and the young girl lead the general through a well tended garden, a waist high stone wall and across a field of dry, listless grass to a barn that seemed in the process of slowly collapsing in upon itself from neglect.
General Stuart paused for a moment. The building gave off a…he wasn’t quite sure what, an energy. Unseen, but strongly felt, like how you feel the heat from a stove before you can see if it was on or not.
The peasant girl halted when she noticed he had fallen behind and went back for him.
“It’s okay.” She said, in a reassuring tone.
A brief smile escaped the confines of his beard.
“I am sure you will protect me,” He said, taking her hand again.
They stepped through the old barn doors and he could instantly feel the presence of others, scurrying about.
“Come out,” The girl sternly commanded. “He’s here to help us!”
The General could soon spot whom she was talking to. There were dozens of other ghostly children inhabiting the old barn, dressed in a multitude of styles from across history. Some of the children seemed almost solid, while others were so faint as to be wisps of vapor.
They huddled in corners and peaked out from behind moldering bales of hay and ancient, neglected farming equipment.
The General could feel the fear coming off of them like a solid thing, a wave washing over him.
“What could so frighten ghosts?” He muttered.
“A good question indeed sir,” A voice behind him added.
General Stuart spun, his sword in his hand in a blur of motion.
Facing him was another ghost. A man clad in the fashion of a gentleman of wealth from the 1700s. Despite his ghostly form the General could still make out the colors of his attire. This was no fading spirit, but rather one with some anchor to this earthly realm.
He too had a sword in hand, a dueling sword, and pointed at the old soldier.
They two ghosts stood, sword tips touching, ready to lunge the second they spotted an opening.
“Hey, D’artanian! Custer! What in the Sam hill is going on here?!” A new voice exclaimed.
A third ghost floated down from the rafters, his appearance and dress more modern then the two duelists. He wore a red t-shirt, stretched across his muscular chest and shoulders. He also wore white jodhpurs and boots.
He floated in-between the two ghosts, arms stretched to push them apart.
“Lets calm down. What do you two think you are going to do? Stab each other to death?” He grumbled.
General Stuart noticed that both the new arrivals had a ghostly child accompanying them.
“It seems we were all three ‘invited’ to this strange gathering,” He said, re-sheathing his saber. “I apologize for my poor manners.”
“Think nothing of it, sir,” The gentleman replied, making a leg. “Under the circumstances cautious vigilance is the best chosen course.”
“You two done?” The third ghost asked.
“I would think introductions are in order,” The gentleman said, lowering his own sword. “Keith Everet, Earl of Strethmere, at your service.”
“General James Ewill Brown Stuart,” The General replied, with a tip of his hat.
“Fine, if it’ll make you guys happy, I’m Michael Gallant. I’m…I was in the army air force, now I kind of operate with my brother as Captain Triumph.”
“I am familiar with you,” Everet, said with a nod. “Having myself crossed paths with some of the mystery men that operate in Europe. The alias I work under is the Ghost, depending upon my mood, some would call me ‘Gay’ others ‘Grim’.”
“It would seem we all are involved in the effort against the Nazis,” General Stuart said, thoughtfully. “And that it was our ghostly natures that drew us here.”
“Yes, sir,” His young guide said, feeling brave enough to join the conversation. “We were all drawn here. Every year, on this same night it comes to the village…we are drawn here, we cannot stop it…please help us…!”
A chorus of whispers from all corners of the ancient barn joined her plea.
“Can’t say I like the sound of that,” Michael Gallant muttered. “I want to help, but my brother is out there and without my help, he is likely to get himself hurt…”
“What would a ghost find frightening?” The Grim Ghost pondered, fingering the hilt of his sword absently. “And why are we the only adults at this gathering?”
“It took them,” The young girl said, quietly. “It took them all.”
“What did?” The General asked, kneeling down to be face to face with the child. He took her tiny hand in his. “What happened here, child?”
”Something keeps it here,” She said, looking back at the other spirit children for support. “We…we can’t fight it and it will soon get us as well…then it may leave…!”
“It sounds like a predator. Something that hunts ghosts,” Gallant said.
“And I shudder to think what would happen if it began to roam and discovered battlefields containing hundreds of newly created ghosts.” The General said. “Gentlemen, it would appear our course of action is clear.”
“Great, except we don’t know what this thing is or even where it is.” Gallant said.
“It hides,” One of the children said, peeking out around a hay bale. “It hides among the families. “
“It waits to strike,” Another whimpered.
“Okay, so we go ‘trick or treating’,” Gallant nodded.
“We what?” General Stuart asked.
“You never went trick or treating as a kid?” Gallant asked. “Are you that old?”
“I assure you, sir…!”
“Don’t get in a huff. I mean we go door to door, around the village until we scare up this…bad thing…does it have a name…?”
“We do not get near enough to ask,” The general’s guide replied.
“Sensible,” Everet shrugged. “So, shall we gentlemen?”
The General made a ‘after you’ gesture.
Michael Gallant rolled his eyes and floated through the wall.
“Stay here, children,” The Grim Ghost advised them with a jaunty salute. “We will return.”
# # # # #
The three Ghosts drifted along the main dirt road of the village, studying the assortment of small, rustic houses that lined it.
“Where to start?” Everet asked, stroking his chin in thought.
“We don’t have all night!” Gallant snapped. “Let’s just pick a side and get going.”
He headed towards the nearest house and the other two spirits followed. They passed through the wall and floated above the family, as they sat around their fireplace.
“What are we looking for?” Everet asked. “We are assuming it is a spirit or creature, but it could be hiding anywhere or in anything…”
“Or anyone.” General Stuart added, studying the rooms of the small home. “The villagers seem unaware of our being here, but everyone we’ve encountered has seemed…skittish. See how even as they move about the house, the parents are keeping their children in sight…. perhaps, it is not so much ghosts that it hunts, but rather fear.”
Michael Gallant floated next to him; arms crossed and thoughtful frown on his face.
“I’ve got no patience for anybody that wants to hurt a kid,” He muttered.
The Grim Ghost drifted back into the main room.
“I can find nothing that hints of our quarry.” He said. “Shall we move on?”
The next house much the same: plain, rustic furnishings, parents and children all going about their nightly pursuits, while at the same time keeping nervous watch over each other.
It was the same for the next three houses. Being courteous, they entered by passing through the front door, scouted about the house and family and were on their way.
They had gone up one side of the street and started down the other.
“This is nuts,” Gallant grumbled. “I can feel it…there’s something here, but where the heck is it?”
“Patience,” The General advised, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he peered at the remaining houses and barns.
The trio drifted through the door. This house was in a poorer state then it’s neighbors. That might be due to the seven children that roamed and played in every room.
“See?” Gallant muttered. “Just more kids. Either we are doing this wrong or those kids in the barn are sending us on a wild goose chase.”
“I can’t say weither the geese are tame or wild…”Everet began, glancing about idly.
“Why is that child looking at us?” General Stuart asked.
“What? It can’t…holy smokes…she is!” Gallant exclaimed.
The little girl had been sitting by herself, playing with some rough wooden blocks, but her gaze was focused on the three ghosts.
After several minutes, her lips moved. Forming the words ‘go away’.
“It’s her!” Everet announced. “She’s the evil.”
“No, whatever it is, has taken hold of that child.” General Stuart said.
“Then we need to show it who’s boss,” Gallant said, cracking his knuckles. “Drive it out.”
The child glared at them but showed no other outward sign of reaction.
“I’ve learned a few things about taking possession of mortal hosts,” Everet said. “I may have an idea.”
Moving like a diver, the Grim Ghost leapt upwards and then arc’d down at the possessed child. His ghostly form disappeared as he flowed inside her.
“I get it,” Michael Gallant nodded, following quickly after. “Just like with my brother Lance.”
He too vanished within the young girl, like a swimmer diving below the surface of the water.
General Stuart, the one spirit that had never used human hosts, felt at a loss at what to do.
The child shivered, then made a face like it had tasted something sour and held her stomach. She made a retching sound and shuddered.
When she did Gallant and Everet came tumbling out.
The Grim Ghost was flung across the room and passed through the wall. The American mystery man stopped at the General’s feet.
“We might have a problem,” He muttered, struggling to sit up.
The child retched again, loud enough this time to attract the attention of her parents and siblings.
“I… told…you…!” She gasped. “Go…a…way…!”
Vile sludge poured from her mouth, nostrils and eyes and quickly formed into a grotesque creature.
It was squat and broad shouldered. Its arms seemed too long for its body, and due to its incredibly stumpy, bowed legs, its gnarled hands dragged on the ground.
It had no neck, rather its lumpy head just sat upon its shoulders.
It glared at the General with small, piggy eyes, while grinding teeth that resembled a collection of dingy dominos.
It swung its long, gangly arms at Stuart. He dodged, and then grabbed Gallant by the back of his t-shirt. Hauling his new ally, they fled through the back wall of the house.
Everet flew over to join them.
“It’s coming!” Stuart announced, letting go of Gallant and drawing his sword. The other ghost did likewise, as the creature lumbered through the wall, arms flailing, and a growl like a rusty saw going through a log escaped its rubbery lips.
Flying through the air it resembled a disfigured ape, using its arms as well as feet to propel it along.
General Stuart slashed down savagely with his cavalry saber. It passed through the creature’s flesh, left no mark, but it flinched backwards.
The General gave a grim smile of realization as he stabbed forward, driving the thing back several feet.
“Your sword, sir!” He called.
The Grim Ghost flew upwards, sword drawn and he kept the creature caged in with a series of lightening fast feints and strikes.
“Even when they are ghostly in form,” He said. “Most supernatural creatures cannot abide cold steel!”
The two swordsmen pinned the creature in, cutting off any avenue of escape, keeping it trapped in the farmyard.
“We have it contained,” The Grim Ghost said, while fighting. “But, what is our next step?”
“The young lady made it sound that this was the one night the creature stalked the village,” The General grunted, struggling to dodge the creatures’ massive arms. “But I am doubtful we can keep it trapped until dawn…?”
“So, what do we do?” Gallant asked, as he snuck up behind the misshapen creature and slammed his clasped fists down on the top of its head.
“I could help,” A new voice said.
All three ghosts glanced over at the new arrival. She was a petite young woman with chalk white skin and raven black hair. She was dressed in a simple, yet stylish black skirt and blazer ensemble and a pillbox hat. In her gloved hands, she held a small, empty birdcage.
They struggled to keep the creature contained while trying to judge who this woman was and if was truly on their side.
She pulled off one glove, put her fingers to her mouth and whistled, three sharp notes.
The creature stopped in mid-attack, spotted the pale woman and immediately ceased all hostilities, taking on the posture of a child caught in some naughty behavior.
She then reached down, and with a single finger, pushed open the door of the birdcage.
“Enough is enough, Chazzmort,” She said, sternly. “Play time is over.”
The creature growled, deep in whatever passed for its throat and timidly backed away. It then found itself bumping into the point of the Grim Ghost’s sword.
The General then gave him a poke with his own sword to prompt the creature along.
As it shuffled towards the pale woman, it grew smaller, until by the time it reached her, the monster fit easily into the birdcage.
“There,” She nodded, clicking the door closed. “More trouble then you are worth.”
She then looked up, and realized the three ghosts were hovering around staring at her.
“Well, thank you for your help,” She said, smiling. “You wouldn’t believe how hard tracking Chazzmort down was. If you three hadn’t driven him out into the open, I might have missed him…really busy, trying to look after my brother’s things, and do my own job, but that’s how family is.”
“I’m sorry,” The General muttered, unsure. “But, have we met before, Miss? You seem familiar…?”
“I meet everyone,” She replied, gently. “But I do tend to remember the ones that got away. Nice to see you fellows again.”
Gallant hung back, anxiously. Everet lowered his sword, but did not sheath it, while he searched his memory for when he might have seen the young lady before.
The General moved a few steps closer, sheathing his sword and stroked his beard in thought.
“I cannot say I understand all that has occurred,” He said, politely. “But, I thank you for your help.’”
She smiled back up at him.
I’d like to stay and chat, but between my own ‘to do’ list and cleaning up after my brother has left me hardly time to breathe,” She said, with a tip of her hat. “Thanks again. Be seeing you.”
With that, she faded away.
“What just happened…?” Breathed Everet.
“Who was she…?” Gallant said, rubbing at his arm. “I’ve seen her before…I don’t…uh, strange, like something I should…”
“I feel the same,” General Stuart nodded. “But, I think we should be content that we have kept this village safe. Beyond that…”
He shrugged.
“Well, then,” The Grim Ghost added, sheathing his sword. “I should be on my way. There is a young lady that will be concerned.”
“And by now my brother has likely gotten himself into trouble,” Michael Gallant said.
“Gentlemen,” General Stuart said, extending his hand. “It has been a honor.”
“It has been something,” Gallant said, shaking his hand. “If either of you are in the states, drinks are on me.”
He then flew off.
The Grim Ghost gave a dramatic bow and he too flew off.
The General gave a brief smile and a salute and then drifted back towards the village, concerned how his namesake ancestor and tank crew had dealt with their own mission. A telltale column of smoke in the distance, lead him to believe their night had been eventful as well.